


all i can taste is this moment

by ElasticElla



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Multi, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: In what’s become a worrying trend, this entire messy situation is Jim Kirk’s fault.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock/Nyota Uhura
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Yellow Team





	all i can taste is this moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).



> title from goo goo dolls' iris

In what’s become a worrying trend, this entire messy situation is Jim Kirk’s fault. 

And, as per usual, Jim isn’t even here. Doesn’t even know shit’s gone sideways. He’s probably in the dorms hooking up with his Orion fuck buddy. (Leonard does _not_ need to know the specific details, thank you, no really he does not need that tongue fact. Thanks for nothing Jim.) 

In fact, Leonard had a very simple plan for his Saturday: getting some goddamn shut-eye for once. He only agreed to check on Jim’s plant because the greenhouse was on his walk back and it was easier to say yes. 

There’s a deep blue flower with a scarlet center he can’t stop staring at. It sets off every alarm in his head – alien flora is not to be trifled with – but his hands ignore common sense, ignore his brain’s directions and cup the flower bulb. 

“Leonard!” a woman yells, but it’s too late, the plant seems to sneeze, a faint purple pollen mist blooming up into his face and knocking him unconscious. 

.

“-more expedient to remove clothing now.” 

There’s a light smack, “Maybe he wants some privacy or someone else here.” 

“To expose another individual? The good doctor wouldn’t do that – would you?” 

Leonard’s jaw cracks as he yawns, blinking away the bleariness. Overwhelming sensations slam into him, almost like a mix of old school acid and off-world shrooms. Colors seem brighter, more beautiful. There’s a hum in the air that kicks his adrenaline up, makes him want to run or shout. 

Warmth on both sides, and he looks up to see Cadet Uhura on one side, ethereally gorgeous. An instructor on the other side, inhumanly beautiful as well, but with pointy ears that actually mark him as inhuman. There’s only two Vulcan instructors at Starfleet, and given the lack of wrinkles and uniform, this must be Commander Spock. 

Len’s blood feels heated, a certain dread rising as all the symptoms click into place. “Someone tell me there wasn’t a Betazoid iris in the damn greenhouse.” 

“My money’s on the engineers, they love their party pollen,” Uhura says. 

Leonard bites back a groan – at a reminder of what exactly the colloquial sex pollen does in personal rather than scientific terms, at the heat of the two people closest to him, so very close. 

He sits up and, fuck, that’s a mistake. Without the cool cement grounding him, the heat positively burns through him. Logic doesn’t help, his mind twisting into knots over how to create more heat, how very good it would feel. 

They’re saying something. 

“-want us to call someone?” Uhura asks. 

“No.”

That’s an easy question and sexy professor pointy-ears is right – there’s no point in anyone else getting infected. 

“Together then?” she asks. 

A myriad of fantasies explode behind his eyelids, when did they close, of Spock fucking him, both of them fucking Uhura, team human bringing Spock multiple orgasms, as many as they can in a row – the doctor in him can’t help being elated at the prospect. Vulcan society is notoriously private, and they don’t share their physiology textbooks, much less sexuality. For knowledge alone he would jump at the opportunity, and given the rest-

“Yes.” 

“I’ve estimated we have four minutes remaining until our facilities are impaired enough to make relocation improbable. Five, impossible. My quarters are nearest,” Commander Spock says. 

“We’re gonna make it,” Uhura says, in an almost chiding tone and oh. Huh, star student and professor, Leonard probably should’ve been able to guess that cliché. 

Jim is going to be so jealous, comes the near hysteric thought as they speed walk over. That he’ll be the first between them to see how the other half lives, and after all the office hours Jim’s been frequenting with his dimples. 

Just keep thinking, he reminds himself. The last thing he needs is to become a cautionary tale like the drunk pilot that crashed a hoverbike into the library. Before his time sure, but they’re still telling stories about that guy. Jamison? Johnson? Jacobson? One of those names. 

That and Jim will never let it go if he’s the one that gets caught having sex in public regardless of the cause. Mmm, it’s been too long since he’s had great sex and fuck, doesn’t want to think about her. Not now. Not ever. 

They nearly make it. 

Might even be in the right building, he hazily recognizes an elevator, when Len loses track of everything in the background. All that matters are pretty colors and textures and feelings. Spock’s arms are strong, bracketed around him, hot damn Uhura’s breasts are in his hands, so soft he has to kiss them. 

They all fall onto a bed, made it inside apparently. He distantly realizes Spock’s physiological differences must’ve granted him more resistance. And intriguing as the thought is, it has nothing on Uhura’s mouth on his, nor Spock’s long fingers methodically stripping away their clothes.

.

Leonard becomes aware of himself many hours later. It’s dark out, Uhura’s curled up on his chest and Spock’s arm and leg are draped over both of them. He should feel trapped under them, but he just feels… sated. 

Sore too, his jaw propped open for too long. He runs a thumb along it, vivid flashbacks of deepthroating Spock while Nyota – when in the haze had they switched to first names? – rode his cock. Spock’s fingers on his temple and Ny’s, the three connected more deeply than he could’ve imagined: bodily, mentally, emotionally. 

There’s a pair of bitemarks on his thighs, a traditional set and the other less so. His thighs shift, and he feels sticky gross, laying in all their dried sweat and fluids. Still, he can’t make himself want to move or wake them. 

He’ll just doze off for a bit. He did want to spend some of the day napping. And this way, when he wakes, he’s fairly certain there will be a long conversation or shower sex or breakfast, or all of the above. 

As he drifts off to sleep, he muses perhaps plant sitting wasn’t the worst. This time. (Not that he’ll be admitting that to Jim.)


End file.
